Here comes a sighting of the kind that I enjoy the most, because it
reaches me unexpectedly and it remains as nebulous as a
ghost.
I tried to check the information against Nabokov's "Speak, Memory"
(probably in ch. Three), but I haven't been able to locate it in his words
and feel totally secure about the episode. However the image of an
elderly lady, who always slept in a room with the windows wide open
and who was once covered by snow during the night, remains as clear
now as when I read it for the first time.
The sighting comes from G.W.Sebald, in his novel "Austerlitz"
(2001), in a Portuguese translation published by the Companhia das
Letras, on p.65/66.
The narrator is telling a story he'd heard from his friend,
Austerlitz, who now, for the first and only time, mentions to him
several events of his childhood in Wales.
Austerlitz, as a young boy, lived with a Calvinist preacher and his
wife Gwendolyn, in a town called Bala, close to submerged Llanwddyn. After
this lady became too ill to leave the bed to resume her daily
chores, she developped the habit of dousing herself all over, at regular
intervals, with snow-white talcum-powder. Soon the entire room and
the upper-floor corridors of her house were covered by a greasy
surface of pale dust.
"It was only recently that I recollected this progressive whitening of
the preacher's house, said Austerlitz, when I happened to read a Russian
author's childhood memories who described the mania for
talcum-powder which afflicted his grandmother, a lady who, although she
spent most of her time lying down on a couch and nourished
herself almost exclusively of wine-jello and almond-milk, kept
up her strong constitution, so much so that she used to sleep with
the windows of her room always wide open, and this is why, after a night
of storm, she woke up beneath a blanket of snow, without having
suffered from exposure to the cold."
( I cannot remember the part of wine-jello and almond-milk in Nabokov's
memoirs, perhaps because I'd never heard about them before).